


No Influence

by Quoshara



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Bad Taste, Clothing, Gen, Good Taste, Personal Taste
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quoshara/pseuds/Quoshara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Three Musketeers Promptathon/Artathon on Live Journal</p><p>The prompt was:  "Everyone has different tastes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Influence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The andoneforall community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+andoneforall+community).



> Thanks, as always, to speak_me_fair .

It wasn't, Athos mused, that Porthos had no taste at all, it was merely that his taste was more suited to…a hummingbird…or, to put things in a bit better perspective size-wise, a peacock. His clothes were often bright and when they weren't Porthos tended to cover them with so much trumpery and fripperies that walking down the street with him was like following in the wake of a ship in full sail, or a gypsy caravan.

Perhaps, though, that was what brought so many women to the big man's side. Like was often attracted to like. And even if it wasn't that, most women seemed to like bright shiny things, and Porthos was nothing if not bright and shiny.

Although, Athos had to yield to the idea, as much as he felt it his duty to knock down Portho's ego at every opportunity, there had to be more to his self-aggrandized sexual prowess than met the eye. Bright and shiny would only attract females, not keep them hovering around the way they did if there were not some other attraction. It's not as if Porthos ever had money of his own – what he didn't gamble away, was spent on those same fripperies.

Athos shook his head as Porthos sat next to him, a cup of wine in one hand and a girl on his knee. He supposed it had to be a matter of taste, and who was he to talk? If he considered Porthos one of his two only close friends – and he did – he also had to concede that there was more to him than his flamboyant style of dress.

**

Really, Porthos grimaced as he turned to nuzzle the neck of the girl sitting on his knee (Suzette…er…or was it Claudette?), would it hurt Athos to dress a bit less funereally? Black and austere had it's place (it must, somewhere) but all the time? Would it hurt the man to sport bit of lace, some silver buttons, maybe some gold piping on his tunic? Anything that wasn't black, or dark blue and snowy linen. 

Of course, at the moment the snowy linen was somewhat wilted and stained with what looked to be a combination of mud, lunch and the dregs of what had been a very good burgundy. At least **that** added a bit of color to him. 

Still, it was part of Athos's charm, really, the staid, drunken , grumpiness, and the way that the sharpest and wittiest comments fell from the man's lips with no regard to who was present or what they were doing. It had, of course, lost him a woman a time or two, but Porthos could not regret it. As much as he loved women, a good friend was more irreplaceable. And Athos, dreary wardrobe or not, was a good friend.

"God, man, is that shirt…? " Athos blinked. "Did a tree vomit on you? I have never seen such a bilious shade--"

"Shhhhh… " Porthos interrupted him. "It was a gift from Suzette."

A hand abruptly smacked against his cheek and the woman on Porthos's knee launched herself up, flouncing toward the door.

"Hmmmm… I suppose that was _Claudette_ , after all."

"Are you not going after her?"

Porthos considered for a moment. "No. I think not. Listen, let's go find Aramis. I hear there's a man over on the Rue des Ateliers who has a three legged rooster that he's entering in the cockfights next week. Have you ever seen such a thing?"

Athos snorted, but climbed to his feet, "I'm sure that bird would be much better for a meal than a fight, but as I've nothing better to do, I'll come along."

Porthos slapped Athos on the shoulder, accidently rocking him to one side with the strength of it, "Aramis will love this…it's…science. How can that bird walk with three legs?"

"How do you walk with no brain? It's a mystery for the ages."

 

*fin*

_Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society. ~~ Mark Twain_


End file.
